A Poem For…

A Poem For Virginia Woolf

A poem about melancholy and the deep desire which is written in the flesh to change

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In her head, thoughts whirling, so many voices whispering,

from the blue inked paper around — her own room, a masked soul of longing,

I live, I die; the sea comes over me: one last time, she sighed with relief,

smooth as glass was the surface of the water, and her ache was like a heavy stone in her coat,

it´s the blue that lasts, she said once, in her room remained her echo, and

a full ashtray, endlessly, telling her stories.

By Sugar De Santo

From: Germany

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